Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...
Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...
Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...
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"Well. It happened. It's past, or almost. Once I get Lix<strong>and</strong> back that portion of my life will be truly<br />
done." She smiled a twisted sort of smile. "Maybe I should thank her; if she hadn't done that I would<br />
never have borne him. Other children, but not him." She tried to keep it light, suspected she wasn't<br />
succeeding. She looked up through her eyelashes at his face.<br />
There was underst<strong>and</strong>ing; she could almost see the pieces fall into place in his mind, his eyes showing it<br />
clear, a flicker or pain, then sorrow, for her. The breath she let out was not as calm as she wanted to<br />
pretend. She hadn't realized she was holding it.<br />
"Atzathratzas was Lix<strong>and</strong>'s father," he said, barely louder than a whisper. It was only half-questioning.<br />
Then he offered her his h<strong>and</strong>, palm up. Not reaching, but leaving her the choice to take or not.<br />
Careful not to scratch him, she laid her h<strong>and</strong> in his. The ridge of his sword-callus lay warm under the soft<br />
skin of her thumb, somehow comforting, like Shkai'ra's.These h<strong>and</strong>s would never move anyone<br />
around like a puppet, or a doll .<br />
"You said he was almost ten."<br />
She cleared her throat, making a scratchy sound. "Dah. He was born in the Year of the Iron Ri,<br />
summer—ten now, he'd be."<br />
"How old are you?"<br />
"Twenty <strong>and</strong> four." She looked at her h<strong>and</strong> in his, the scratches on his nails <strong>and</strong> the scrape on a knuckle,<br />
as if they were the most important things in the world. Then she raised her eyes to his, making them as<br />
calm as she could.<br />
He was looking beyond her, beyond the wall of the cart, far away, eyebrows ridged black over<br />
narrowed eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. Then the eyes came back, <strong>and</strong> he mock-spat, hard, in the<br />
direction of Arko.<br />
He's already closer than I let most people get, ever,she thought. Another part of her thought:that's<br />
the first bitterness I've ever seen from him, against them .<br />
Pain hung with claws from the inside of her ribs, drawn <strong>by</strong> his sympathy. She shrugged, casual like<br />
Shkai'ra, forced the words. "I lived."Does he do this to everyone in this army? Even every special<br />
operative? "I …" Her throat froze up, the worse since she'd told Shkai'ra, who hadn't made much of it,<br />
despite her efforts. "I can heal." Swallowing the hurt in her throat, she raised her eyes to his, forced them<br />
steady.<br />
"Oh, yes," he said lightly, as if it were a given. "You can. You will. It's just difficult <strong>and</strong> takes a long time.<br />
I know."<br />
I know. The word echoed in her ears, like a bell, significant, like a drop of blood in water.He does . It<br />
came to her:he was a slave of Arko .<br />
Most of his scars were hidden under near-priceless armor, now, but she remembered them, the marks<br />
of the ten-beaded whip, the br<strong>and</strong> burns.Why am I thinking he wouldn't have got the rest of the<br />
usual treatment? That sort of thing doesn't only happen to the poor; there are shits in every<br />
quarter. He just ran up against the richest shit of all, the Imperator . A tale she had heard at a fire<br />
came hard back into her mind: that he'd suffered the worst tortures at the h<strong>and</strong>s of Kurkas. Personally.